


A Tramcar Named Desire

by Marlynastre



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Crack, F/M, Fluff, Modern AU, Silly, Tramway AU, Yes you read that right, snowstorms are epic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-04-30 12:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5163827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marlynastre/pseuds/Marlynastre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or that one silly AU where Solas is a tramcar driver in a snowstorm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Lady and the Tram

Lavellan blew on her fingers to try and chase away the cold. Snow fell continuously from the sky and coated the landscape in a thick blanket. Never had a winter been so harsh in her memory. Century-old trees blown away by the gushing winds, Clouds weighing heavy on the horizon to the point of claustrophobia. A massive hailstorm had ripped the sky apart during the day, hitting everyone and everything indiscriminately, punching through windshields, blowing roofs away, forcing people inside their homes to hide from hailstones sometimes as large as tennis balls.

Surprisingly enough, the trams were still running. The lines were the city’s nervous systems, linking key neighbourhoods together, allowing people from all races and origins to travel at affordable costs in a city where the terrain didn’t allow for subways. That meant that the tramways were regularly cleared from the excess of snow by the volunteers of the _Haven program for young Andrastians_.

The luminescent numbers on the tram station’s flickered. Lavellan stood on her toes and wiped the screen with her sleeve, trying to read the estimate arrival time for the next tram.

Thirty five minutes.

A huff of frustration escaped her lips. _What I have ever done to the Creators to deserve such a harsh punishment?_ It said thirty five minutes ten minutes ago.  
Her thin elven boots had given up hours ago. Her socks were soaking wet, her nose was cold, her hair was starting to curl and most of all, her ears were freezing. Winter was always a bad time to be an elf. Hoods and hats were fitted with holes for the ears to go through, exposing them to the elements at all times. And little ear mittens went out of fashion at least three decades ago. No way she would be seen wearing those. Basically, it was a wonder her ears didn’t fall off her face.  
The young woman pulled her scarf up to her nose, stashed her hands under her armpits and angrily walked in circles, tracing abstract forms on the newly formed white layer on the platform. It was snowing so hard that by the time she finished drawing a giant middle finger with the edge of her boot, half of it had already faded, immediately filled with more snowflakes.

Exasperated, she glanced at the display screen.  
Thirty six minutes.

 _Oh, great_.

For a moment there, she considered calling someone to fetch her, but the White Spire Meteorological forecast had warned people against using the roads during the snowstorm. She knew her friends would jump at the opportunity to have her in their debt, especially Dorian, but she also didn’t want to risk their life.

 _It’s not like trams are any safer_. Nobody in town had forgotten about the unsolved mystery of ‘93, the hijacked streetcar going off the rails and crashing into uptown’s dam, resulting in the death of thousands because of the sudden flood. All the casualties were elves, of course. If the victims had been human, you’d bet the city council would have found the funds to help them in time.

That entire neighbourhood was abandoned now, a field of ruins that formed a greyish wrinkly rash on the city’s butt. There only lived the poorest of elves, in shady squats and shantytowns.

She wasn’t even born when it happened, but that was all her parents ever talked about. The mystery was on everyone’s mind, a story repeated so often the facts had started to blur. Details became crazier every year. To hear some of them, The Tramway Ghost, tenderly nicknamed Fare’Harel by the general population, brought down his punishment upon those who thought themselves above everyone else, the ones who dared commute without paying tram fare. To others, it was terrorists, who came from the desert outskirts of Tevinter and destroyed the dam to make some kind of political statement. Contents of said political statement varied depending on who you asked and how inebriated they were.

Her grandma was dead serious about it too. There wasn’t a week without the elderly elven lady ringing her up, asking if her journey went all right, if the tramcar was up to safety norms, if she’d been bothered by Fare’Harel. Granny Lavellan had gone as far as to craft her a small wolf charm, you know, “to keep the Ghost away”.

She fiddled with it through her scarf now, out of boredom. The little pendant was a silly thing but she would never consider throwing it away or hiding it in a drawer. That’s how precious a gift it was to her. Lavellans always stuck out for one another after all, even in case of anti-imaginary-ghost witchcraft.

Lost in thought and staring blankly at the platform, Lavellan didn’t notice the LED numbers ticking away on the screen.

She was startled when the distinctive sound of an electronic bell echoed through the storm, announcing the arrival of the long-awaited shuttle.

_Fin-fucking-nally._

Yellow beams cut through the thick layer of snow, flooding the platform with light as the silhouette of the tramcar slowly extracted itself from the dripping darkness, puffing its way to a halt and exuding vapor from its metal innards. The lit windows blinked like ghastly eyes in the fog, each blast smashing a bit more of the blizzard’s flesh upon the glass.

Lavellan extended her hands and reached out, her fingers brushing the green-lit globe which activated the door controls.

Warmth suddenly enveloped her in a jealous embrace, caressing her skin, seeping under the many layers of clothing she wore, saturating her every nerve. Her extremities were tingling. For a couple seconds, the elf stood there relishing the sweet, glorious warmth after an hour standing in drizzle.

The streetcar’s speakers came online, delivering in a neutral, strangely rythmic voice :

“Please move away from the doors and make your way to the center of the shuttle, a hindrance in our departure would cause further delay along the line.”

It made her jump. Thin-skinned and annoyed at the entire world, Lavellan flipped the finger to the closest speaker and moved, doors closing behind her.

“This gesture is highly unnecessary,” the voice commented dryly. The vehicle started rather abruptly, throwing her out of balance and onto the nearest seat.

 _Oh it that how it’s going to be?_ Well, her patience was in shortage tonight.

She stood.

Nearly fell face first to the ground as the tram stopped again a few meters down the rails. Fuming, Lavellan stomped her way up the empty shuttle, nearly bumping into the young man who entered, wearinga large winter hat covered in snow, pale cheeks reddened by the cold, mumbling apologies for being late, for making the shuttle stop just for him, for making all the passengers wait -you know, all the passengers zeroing down to a grand total of one scrawny Lavellan and both her ears.

When she reached the front end of the car, the young woman knocked with her clenched fist on the glass door which separated passengers from the driver console, eyes glaring daggers at the back of said driver’s rather bald head.

He didn’t respond.

She knocked again. And again when his hand reached for the throttle. His fingers stopped short of touching it, yet the man didn’t so much as turn his eyes towards her, chin tilting down in annoyance as he voiced the coldest, most tightly controlled “Yes?” she’d ever heard.

“You were twenty-seven minutes late and you have no excuses since half the city works their ass off to keep your tracks clear, and then I take more than the average 0.5 second to get seated and I get barked at, and THEN you’re expecting me to be polite about it? Is that what taxpayer money is being used for now?”

“It should not surprise me to hear you complain about taxpayer money, when you are the one who did not seem concerned with paying your fare. Typical from someone raised among the Dalish I suppose.”

 _How dare-_ “I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you, but you also have antennas on each side of your face.”

“Does a common physical attribute make us the same people ? Does the color of your eyes make you a tramcar because the seats are of a similar shade?” Now he wasn’t just racist, he was outright condescending.

She was still figuring out the perfect comeback when he interrupted her trail of thoughts.

“Do I have your permission to start our journey again?” the driver asked ironically, face still hidden by the dimness of the cabin, the tip of his definitely-elven-ears the only features outlined by the artificial lights of the station outside.

_Jerk._

She stormed off and went to seat at the other end of the shuttle out of spite, wobbling a bit when they properly took off and left the desolate tram station behind them.

The small electronic display on the card puncher read ten to midnight.

Wait.

He was right.

With the bliss of getting in the heated vehicle and all the following drama, she’d completely forgotten to beep her tram pass.

…Now she felt stupid. As silently as she could, covering the machine’s sound with a fake cough to prevent anyone from witnessing her shame, she pressed the small plastic card against the sensor.

Her leg twitched. Yet another long period of utter boredom before she could gethome. There was a reason she hadn’t even tried to walk back home in the first place. It took forever to reach her place. Still, it was better than nothing. When she first came down town, she had to crash at the Chantry’s emergency shelter for young people for a couple weeks, helping out with running the soup kitchen and gathering local support for the elections in exchange for dinner and a bed. Leaving Lavellan settlement in the first place had been a heartbreaking decision, but a necessary one. It took half a day with a good car to travel between their small clearing cluttered with old RVs and caravans, and the city. Making the trip there and back everyday would have been virtually impossible.

After a time at the Chantry shelter though, the friends she made there helped her find a proper flat.

The only problem was, it was in Skyhold district. And Skyhold, when you looked at the tram map on the walls, was the last station.

Which meant at best one more hour of woolgathering before she could sink in her second-hand sofa and binge watch “Hard in Hightown” on Netflix.

Oh well. At least her ears were warm again.

Lavellan scanned the shuttle, looking for something, anything, to keep her mind busy. It was completely empty save for the lanky guy who’d ran late at the station, foot tapping rhythmically on the edge of his seat and face hidden by the flaps of his massively oversized, worn out shapka. Wild bangs of blond hair covered his eyes, which didn’t seem to bother him. Strange fellow. Probably one of those teenagers who were still trying to figure out how to even human.

The cheesy poster announcing the dates of this year’s Winter Ball didn’t last long either. The eleventh time her eyes went over the “Don’t forget to bring your masks!!!!” phrase written in glitter, Lavellan grunted and focused her attention elsewhere.

There really wasn’t much to do, since you couldn’t peer out of the windows because of the snow and overall darkness. To top it all, the tramway was moving a sluggish pace. Which, you know, was actually a good thing in that kind of weather.  
The elven girl took her phone out of her pocket, desperately looking for a new purpose in life.  
Well, no signal and no wi-fi was to be expected in this kind of Doomsday scenario.  
No battery, though, was a giant “Fuck you” straight from the Creators.

 _Now’s the good time for that bloke to turn into a creepy murderer. Now one would ever know. And Eggface probably won’t even care if someone was brutally stabbed in his tramcar_.

Still. She felt sorry for snapping at him. Poor man was just doing his job, dealing with angry commuters all day. Already straining by itself, even more straining late at night in a bloody blizzard.  
The tram came to a halt at another station, even though no one climbed in or out. Before stopping to think about what she was doing, Lavellan walked up to the driver’s cabin this time not even bothering to knock, and went inside.  
The elven man tilted his head towards her, irritation -and a hint of fatigue- furrowing his brow, but she didn’t give him the opportunity to kick her out. Instead, she inhaled deeply and outed in a single breath :

“I’msorryforwhatIsaidearlieryoudidn’tdeservetogetyelledatjustbecauseI’mtiredandturningintoanelvenshapedicecube.”

“And your way of showing appreciation is by trespassing in a restricted area for the second time in five minutes ?” She nearly recoiled at the sudden jab. Thankfully, she caught on the slight humor in his tone, the rounder edge of the consonants.

“I’m trying my best here.” Lavellan felt wounded, but she _did_ bring it upon herself, to be fair. The driver sighed, idly running his fingertips on the dashboard as if it helped soothe his nerves

“Apologies. The night is long.”

She smiled. “And the path is dark.” Ok, now she was going to have the song stuck in her head for hours, possibly days. No wonder it still was the n°1 hit on the charts even after so many weeks.

“Your taste in music is… intriguing.” The man commented. She shifted in the small cabin, easing her courier bag to her other shoulder. What did he mean by intriguing ? Everyone loved that song. It was a bloody great song. Nothing intriguing about that.

“And yours is seriously lacking, mister.” They stood silent for a while, Lavellan desperately looking for a conversation topic before he shooed her away. Despite everything, the young woman remained a social creature at heart. She reveled in the presence of others, the comforting warmth of companionship. Growing up in a small wandering community usually did that to people.

_Well, here goes nothing._

”I’m bored, you’re probably bored too, we’re stuck together until we reach the terminus. Can I stay here?” she asked, already regretting opening her mouth. Surprise made him turn his eyes away from the rails and towards her for the first time since she came aboard.

His face had the sharpest features she’d ever seen, jawline and cheekbones so sharp she could probably chop carrots with them. Narrow eyes stood her gaze, scanning her to determine if she was making fun of him in some way.  
Maybe she was tired, probably because she was tired, she couldn’t help but stare at his mouth for a good five seconds. Creators, this here was a mouth made for kissing if she’d ever seen one.  
After a time, his eyes shifted away and the tight line of his lips softened.

“You may,” he said quietly as the tram resumed its course, crawling towards unending darkness, shrouded by the dizzying whirls of the falling snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was bored while waiting ages for the tram the other day and one of my friends suggested I passed the time by imagining Solavellan in that situation. And then this happened. Get ready for the emotional tramwreck! >:D
> 
> Shoutout to fel-assan over on Tumblr for betaing this <3


	2. Tramway over the Rainbow

“You have cameras! No wonder you were able to see me flip the bird earlier.”

“Not your finest moment, I seem to recall.”

She was buzzing around him like a fly or a kid in a candy shop, touching everything, inquiring about every single lever, switch, button and touch screen she could lay her eyes on.

He replied to each of her questions with patience, eyes never drifting away from the rails across the large windshield. When he talked, he sometimes went into overly detailed and passionate descriptions of tramcar driving and traffic regulation, a subject she never thought could be described with so much eagerness. At first, she paid attention to his words because her brain was more than happy to latch on anything that wasn’t the stupid glitter poster. Soon enough, though, she found herself properly enraptured by his words by the soothing diction, the way the “r” rolled around his teeth sometimes, by the way his eyes lit up when she asked him for more details about something he just described.

Admittedly, anyone else talking about streetcars would bore her to death, but that man could lecture her on the fluctuations of wyvern leather trade in the orlesian shoe-making industry to the point where she’d probably switch degrees to finance and business.

_Note to self : if I ever end up in finance, kindly ask Sera to pull out the hangman’s noose from wherever she has one stashed._

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Mh?” His eyes followed her pointed finger to the wolf jawbone dangling from the windshield in lieu of furry dice and other stupid gadgets people usually put there. Sera’s rear view mirror was so encumbered with trinkets, collector nug plushies and miscellaneous pieces of ribbon it was a miracle she hadn’t run over anyone yet.

Needless to say, a blackened animal bone hanging inside the driver’s cabin added a little touch to tonight’s already very macabre and creepy atmosphere.

“Funalis was more than a month ago, mister. You forgot to put the skeletons back in your closet.”

“This is not… mere decoration,” he remarked, pausing to find the correct word. He seemed reluctant to talk about it, which surprised her considering how verbose he’d just been with her about his line of work. “I do not wish to discuss it.”

 _Touchy subject, huh_. If he didn’t want to talk about it, why did he hang it out there in the open for everyone to see instead of putting it around his neck or something? Or leave it a home?

Now that she thought about it, it must be lonely sitting in this tiny bubble all day, driving the same route over and over again, the rustle of daily commuters behind the glass panel for sole distraction. Like a wolf in a cage. … _Aha. Look at you, so funny with your cheesy parallels._

No wonder he would try to liven up his space with personal items. Even if it was a creepy bone, or a worn-out paperback with half its pages dog-eared sitting on his dashboard.

 _Do tramcar drivers sleep in their trams?_ She pondered for a while. It might seem like a stupid question, but the answer wasn’t so obvious to her. Until recently, as her friends kept making fun of, she thought that the university teachers lived on campus, instead of being regular humans with lives outside of their teaching. Lavellan settlement’s Keeper, as she insisted upon calling herself instead of saying “Supervisor” like every individual not stuck in the last century, summoned the kids to her own RV when she organized lessons for the settlement. It didn’t strike her as odd for shem’len to do the same.

“I would assume most do not. As much as I enjoy the thrill of driving fifty tons worth of deadly steel for a living, there are certain side benefits to a proper bed that this cabin could not emulate. Enough space to lie down, for one.”

Mythal’s flaming tits, did she actually voice the question out loud?! If the mocking eyebrow and the slight hint of a smile on Solas lips was any indication, she did. Good job, latest product of careful Lavellan breeding, pride of the Elven race, good fucking job.

“There’s a whole cart behind that door, you know. Many seats to choose from for a super secret nap during work hours,” the girl teased, poking him in the shoulder.

“Is there now?” he feigned, nearly turning on his seat but reminding himself at the last minute to keep his focus on the road ahead. “I never noticed! Thank you, my friend, for bringing this to my attention.”

“Well, move aside, mister, I’ll take the wheel and you can go get your very first Circle-sponsored shuteye!”

Smugness dripped from his words when he spoke again.“What makes you think I have not already done so in the past ?”

 _Look at you being all Baby Insanity Wolf, old man. You’re a walking meme machine._ It was kinda cute though, that a tram employee she’d just met openly admitted to sleeping while on duty. If she were any other passenger, she would just as readily report him to his superiors.

Or worst, to the City Templar Department. City Council’s fiercest law enforcers. She shuddered at the thought. Even Lavellan settlement wasn’t safe from CTD’s reach, and she harbored deeply superstitious fears against them.

“What makes you think I won’t use this precious information as blackmail?” she asked playfully, taunting the elven man to see how far she could push him, how much she could tease. Teasing came naturally to her, especially when it was late. The enjoyable side benefit of living in a close-knit community with many siblings constantly making fun of you.

“A vain threat if you cannot invoke either my name or my work number in your report to Circle.” He was teasing back, allured by her intelligence, pushing her logic to its limits, testing.

Solas immediately felt her gaze on him, looking for clues.

His eyes nearly drifted away from the road again but he settled down by observing her reflection in the windshield, the only way he could follow her investigation without breaking every regulation in the “Perfect Tram Driving Employee Safety Compendium, foreword by Brother Genitivi, written by Brother Genitivi, exegesis and commentary by Brother Genitivi, yearly revision by Brother Genitivi”.

She immediately turned her attention to his chest, where most Circle employees wore a nametag on the heart pocket. _Pointless in my case, but clever_. Then to the dashboard, looking for anything, a card, personal details on on of the Circle papers clipped to the dashboard, a family picture. Her gaze settled on the worn-out book he kept at his side, the ink of the title faded with age, spine broken by the countless times he’d read through it. Solas could pinpoint the exact moment her gears clicked in the way her teeth parted. He didn’t know anything about this girl, but the smile tugging at the corner of her lips told him enough. She had a terrible poker face. Honesty was written all over these lips.

Rare enough in today’s world.

Before Lavellan could snatch the book and peruse it to find his name written somewhere, his hand flew to her wrist catching her in a strong, yet careful grip.

“Now that would be unfair, would it not? I do not have the luxury of going through _your_ personal belongings to guess your name.”

”Afraid I’m going to find out your dirty little secret?” she taunted yet again, twisting in his grip. “That I’m going to tell everyone at Circle that you read the latest “Swords and Shields”? Or that you’re the dreaded Ghost of the tramway ? No, better. You’re Fare’Harel AND you read “Swords and Shields”, and you don’t want anybody to know because nobody would fear you anymore.”

“Fen’Harel” he corrected automatically before his brain could catch up, clenching his jaws as the obvious, infuriating misstep. Exhaustion was catching up with him. He was being sloppy. Reckless. He should never have allowed this girl to stay in the first place. Now, he found it more and more difficult to tell her to leave.

She shrugged, yet her voice wasn’t so assured when she replied : “Fare’Harel’s funnier. It’s a creepy pasta, who cares about the etymology?”

His lips formed into a tight line to avoid saying anything foolish. Oh he did care. Very much so. Much more than she could possibly imagine. “Solas,” he offered, turning the conversation back to safer waters. “My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions.” While she was busy listening to him, he snatched the book away, put it in his bag, closed it and shoved it under his seat. There. Safe.

“Well then, “Solas”, I’m pleased to meet you.”

“I would say the pleasure is mine, but you have yet to return the favor.”

“I never promised I would! You chose to tell my yours of your own accord.”

Now that she laid it bare before his mind, the trap had been obvious. She’d spun a subtle web, luring him in with innocence and naiveté, taking a leap of logic to poke at his pride. She couldn’t know, of course. It had been a blind shot. But it had worked, and for the first time since she came in the tram, Solas considered her carefully. There was more to this girl than met the eyes. A spirit that could possibly match his own.

Solas nodded, admitting defeat.

Fondness swelling in his chest when that smile of hers widened into a carefee victory grin. Which transformed into a little impromptu dance.

She was impossible.

Endearing.

 

Stations drifted by, time slowly ticking away on the dashboard. Sometimes, she looked behind to keep an eye on the boy with the stupidly large hat. Every time she turned to look, he was sitting on a different seat. At one point, he was even sat cross-legged on top of one.

She muttered pensively. “Why do I always get stuck with all the weirdos?”

“Who?” Solas inquired looking over the driver’s seat and into the passenger area at the first occasion. “Oh, Cole.”

“You know him?” That’d make sense, actually. Creepy teenager and creepy wolf-jawbone-owning-tram-employee, all aboard the creep train to Creeptown. _…I should stop watching Antivan B-movies._

“Of sorts. Cole is a free spirit.”

“By that, I assume you mean he’s a freeloader.”

“A common misconception, but the difference is academic at best. You do not have to be afraid of him. Cole is simply here to help.”

“Hello,” an eerie voice breathed just behind her neck.

Lavellan shrieked, nearly jumping on the driver’s lap. The tram jolted as the man slammed the breaks, vision obscured by half-a-Lavellan clinging to his arm like a lifeline. It took some time for the tram to slow down to a halt on the wet tracks; yet it took even more time to shake the girl off of him, numb fingers tingling with renewed blood flow when she finally let go.

“You should not startle people like that, Cole.” Solas’ voice was acidic, words spewing out in an admonishing staccato. “We talked about it on multiple occasions.” The boy was nervously pulling on the skin around his nails, shifting his balance from one foot to the other. “People from this world do not pay as much attention to their surroundings as you do, which mean they will not hear your arrival.”

“People from this world?” Lavellan asked puzzled, shuffling away from the boy as the tram took off again. The limited space in the crowded cabin made it quite difficult.

“But if I stay in the Fade, people don’t hear either. They won’t listen unless I come close, and I can’t help them if they don’t listen.”

Oh. The Fade. That would explain a few things. The pasty look, the dark bags under his eyes, clothes that looked like he’d picked the first items he could find in a thrift shop -where did he even find that hat?-, a complete and utter lack of social skills, weird speech patterns… Of course he was working at Fade Archives. Wasn’t he a little young to be wasting his health away in there? Most of their workforce never left the sprawling basements and, she suspected, most had never seen the light of day. They only peered out from the veiled windows of the old building, somber apparitions stalking the real world without daring to cross through the Archive doors.

“I’ve been there a few times,” she said compassionately, more than happy to use this common interest as a way to dispel the rising awkwardness between them. And to chase from her mind the memory of Solas’ muscles under her clutched fingers. “I don’t know how you manage to find anything in there.I just end up lost in the corridors. It’s frustrating. It’s not like anybody ever wanted to go with me. So much has been lost, and we could learn so much from the Archives, but I’m the only one who believes that old dusty folders can save the elves.”

“Impressive,” Solas interjected, seemingly lost in thought. “Everyone can enter the Fade, but few attempt to navigate its intricate halls. Admittedly, even fewer develop a thirst for knowledge, nowadays. The Fade Archives are a misunderstood place, more so since the Chantry sought to demonize it, deeming unrestricted and uncensored access to all the city’s past and present knowledge dangerous. Knowledge is a powerful weapon. Place it in the wrong hands, and you have created a potent adversary. Yet one cannot throw away the hammer they need build their house simply because the neighbour might one day use it to bring the house down.”  
Well that went political quickly.

“You seem to know a great deal about it all.” She was genuinely impressed, even through all the snobbishness. Lavellan didn’t believe in fate, nor in the Creators having grand plans for her, but to randomly befriend the only stranger who happened to be a Fade expert…

“I try."

“Fade fleeting, feelings lost in time, clan clinging to cluttered traditions. He could help. Knowledge at her fingertips but the question doesn’t leave her lips. He doesn’t like us. But he likes you, you shine yet you don’t blind.”

“Cole,” Solas snarled, a clear warning. The boy jerked out of his trance as if he’d forgotten his hand in a fire. Lavellan went through great effort to disappear behind her scarf, cheeks crimson for reasons that had nothing to do with the cold. How could he know ? Can he read mind? Maybe he’s the real Ghost of the Tram. She’d never met that guy and he knew all about her ambitions for her clan, her frustrations, her fears. When she took a peek out of the hand-knitted shame-hiding scarf, Cole was gone. Solas seemed suddenly fascinated with his job, eyes not deviating from the tracks. As if pretending that nothing happened would make her forget what Cole had just said about him.   
That isn’t awkward at all.

The tram slowed down after a turn, reaching Mabari Grounds station. When it stopped, the incorporeal female voice that announced every station rang clear in the near empty shuttle, a sentence so often heard, piercing even through the loudest music in her headphones, that Lavellan mouthed “Mabari Grounds Station. Mabari Grounds Station. Connection with Circle Line B and E. Mind the gap.” like a puppet.

To her surprise, the driver was doing it too. Without even realizing it. Lavellan burst into laughter, her hand reaching for the top of the driver’s seat to avoid rolling over on the cabin floor. The flustered elven man turned towards her, eyebrows arched in silent questions, but his composure didn’t hold for very long when he saw her so elated. His lips cracked into a smile.

They laughed together for a while. It didn’t even matter what they were laughing at. She’d already forgotten what it was. They laughed to dissipate the tension put between them by Cole’s words, they laughed to shake the weariness from their bodies, and because hearing the other laugh made their heart soar. Wiping the tears from her eyes, Lavellan unceremoniously pushed the driver aside to peer out of the windshield. Pointless, since it was pitch black outside and you couldn’t see the lake or the mountains, but that didn’t stop her from trying.

Mabari Grounds Station meant that her favorite part of the journey was about to happen. The one where she usually glued her nose to the windows and forgot about the rest of the world for a few minutes, lost in contemplation. Their route would take them into a wide curve on the banks of the lake on the southern edge of town, uninterrupted by crossroads and traffic. She knew for a fact that they would zoom at full speed for a good five minutes before reaching Redcliffe station, with the lake constantly flanking them on the left. On a sunny day, you could see the mountains on the horizon behind the water but she preferred it at sunrise, when the night fog hadn’t completely lifted and the mountains turned into eerie giants from the old tales.

“Is your offer of taking the wheel still standing ?” Solas abruptly asked, his voice slightly higher than usual, turning towards her and eyes locking with hers. A challenge.

“You’re joking, right?”

_Creators, he’s serious._

This was exhilarating. Her blood raced in her veins at the sudden opportunity, heart thumping loudly against the strap of her bag. Said bag flew over her shoulder and on the ground next to his seat, forgotten in the shadows. She giddily bounced closer to him, shoulder brushing against his as she reached for the dashboard.

Unfortunately the rational part of her brain that remembered the basic principles of staying alive short-circuited everything and took control of her body back before her hand touched the gaz throttle. The dreaded question flashed in her mind.

_What would Granny Lavellan say?_

“Isn’t it technically illegal?” she asked suspicious.

“I shall not speak of it if you promise to do the same.” Solas’ eyes lit up in mischief.

“But what about Cole?” she asked nodding towards the cabin where the boy was talking to the glitter on the poster. “He’ll probably freak out and call CTD if he sees me at the helm. And he’d be right.”

“I believe Cole might actually enjoy our little endeavor. You need not worry about him, he does not hold the Templars in his heart.”

Her face settled into a pensive frown, contradictory emotions warring on her features as she weighed her options.

This was, admittedly, a one-in-a-lifetime experience. Not every tram driver offered you control over their Circle shuttle after knowing you for fifteen minutes. Not every tram driver was foolish enough to do so in the middle of a blizzard either, when visibility was at its lowest and there could very well be a dead druffalo somewhere on the tracks. Or a dead Granny Lavellan. Same thing really.

“All right. How dangerous could it be?” Her smile widened with into a grin. “That’s where most of the action happens,” she explained pointing at the lever Solas’ hand was cupping out of habit. “You’ve already told me everything I need to know about driving this baby, mister.”

“You must dedicate a significant amount of time in your day thinking about trams and the subtleties of driving them. Your curiosity and observational skills are… quite remarkable.”

“I’m easily bored.” _And I do dedicate a significant amount of time thinking about sexy tramcar drivers, thank you very much. I will definitely make some more time for bald sexy tramcar drivers._ “What if I mess up, though? You’ll get in trouble. If we’re lucky. If not, we’ll end up straight into the lake.”

“Not if I can prevent it.” His voice was soothing, confident. Grounding. “Come, let me show you.”

Her fingers tentatively brushed the throttle, feeling the heels of her hands fitting perfectly around the curves of the handle. There was a very faint, but constant vibration running through the smooth plastic. Granny Lavellan definitely would kill her if she learned about this. But not before scolding her for four hours straight, praying to all the elven gods to save her bird-brained granddaughter from herself and calling the clan Keeper to exorcise the Ghost of the Tram out of her body.

Which was obviously _why_ she had to do it.

A shiver ran down her spine when Solas carefully placed his hand on top of hers, long fingers sliding in between her own to to help her keep a solid grip on the throttle.

“You want to ease into speed,” he explained, his voice composed just like before, as if he didn’t feel her warm against his palm. “Feel it. Let it guide you. Listen to it, not with your ears but with your skin. Like this.”

A light pressure from his hand pushed the throttle forward. There was absolutely no resistance as the tramcar slid along the rails. The humming grew louder, vibrations pulsing against her fingers but never intrusive, never hurting, simply there on her skin like the purring of a cat or the heartbeat of a lover.

She looked at Solas, whose eyes hadn’t left her for a second, and he nodded. Her hand pushed the throttle further and the engines whirred accordingly.

The tramway followed a gentle curve around the lake. The headlights shone before them, dispelling darkness and uncovering bits of water. The lake was a disparate mesh of luminous waves, peppered in ice clumps, constantly changing and folding and twisting as the beams of lampposts cut through the darkness and brushed against the surface.

There wasn’t even a lake anymore, just a horizon of liquid light searing through the night.

The driver’s hand still sat on top of hers.

Another pressure on the back of her hand and he made them accelerate, vigilant yet daring.

Waves turned into streaks, lines, and the landscape dissolved into pure colour, all black and gold and white. She’d never seen anything like this. The blizzard painted raw strokes of wind against the glass, snowflakes colliding with the windshield and littering the horizon with constantly changing stars.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered as if the sentence wasn’t the plainest, most neutral statement she could come up with. But there were no other words, there was no need for convoluted feelings, just the raw emotion pooling in her throat and soaring in her chest.

_Note to self : get a tram driving licence._

Yes,” he voiced, drunk in the sight of her, “Yes, it is.”

There was something about her, the way her mind worked, her insatiable curiosity about the world around them, the impossible jumps and correlations her mind made. Something that kindled a need he never thought he’d experience again, a genuine need for sharing, for confronting, for taunting to see how she would react, how far he could push her daredevil attitude before she relented. The taste of youth on the roof of his mouth, of unspoiled eagerness, seeds of wisdom not yet corrupted to haughtiness.

Moving across her cheeks, crimson hues alternated with blues for the privilege to melt inside her eyes.

His mind clicked too late.

The blaring horns of a CTD car cut through the storm like a blade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, why did I start writing this AU again ? In case you wondered, yes, I do spend an obcsene amount of time looking at their dashboards when I'm bored on a tram.  
> Thanks for reading! <3


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